It was nearly noon when Mr. Whitaker’s car pulled into the driveway—earlier than usual, earlier than expected.
Ordinarily, he never came home for lunch. His days were rigidly structured, filled with meetings, phone calls, and decisions that impacted hundreds of employees. To him, the house was little more than a place to sleep, change suits, and exist between obligations.
But on this particular day, a meeting had been canceled at the last minute. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he felt compelled to return home.
Perhaps it was the quiet exhaustion he had been carrying for months. Perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps it was nothing at all.
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